


Expectations

by Khemi



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Awkward Crush, Children, Family Fluff, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sloppy Makeouts, nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4141716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khemi/pseuds/Khemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You had high expectations for the man who finally took up your offer to work on the island, idle fancies of who he'd be to you, who he'd be at <em>all</em>.</p><p>Mister Strider, it turns out, is exactly <em>none</em> of those things - But for the life of you you can't figure out why you no longer seem to <em>mind.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Expectations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afractionof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afractionof/gifts).



> Originally posted on [my tumblr](http://khemi.tumblr.com/) and written for my [diamond-studded wheely bin](http://afractionof.tumblr.com/), now presented in its complete glory for you to enjoy. :)

“You Mr Harley?”

To be honest, you’re not really sure what you were expecting.

You’ve been looking for an assistant for longer than you’d like to admit, having a _little_  trouble convincing those highly qualified souls you approached that relocating to an island in the middle of nowhere was entirely worth their while. Sure, they said, you could pay, but what good did money do in the middle of the Pacific ocean? What good was the holiday time when the only place to enjoy it was the same place you affectionately referred to as Hellmurder Island?

All in all, it was rather distressing.

No one had a sense of  _adventure_  anymore.

Then at last, you found someone who kept talking to you, after you mentioned the exact circumstances involved. He seemed interested, asked questions about bringing his admittedly tiny family with him, clarified just what sort of knowledge “computer thingies” actually comprised, and passed through your online interview with flying colours.

 _Finally_ , you had someone who could assist you, who was willing to fit into your curious lifestyle and make it just a little easier on you in your growing age.

You’d be lying, if you denied having had idle flights of fancy in the past few weeks, imagining what sort of dapper young gentleman was behind the golden text that had accepted your offer and made arrangements to move post haste. After all, this chap was about to become one of the central pillars of your business, which was one of the central pillars of your life, and it certainly didn’t help matters when Jade had quite _so_  many questions to babble at you about the man whose room she was helping you paint, staring up at you in wonder with orange paint smeared over her cheeks as you explained to her about a place called Texas, and the fact that shortly she would have a young friend to scamper about with.

The latter fact excited her  _greatly_. You almost thought her smile stretched right from ear to ear.

But this character himself seemed well spoken, intelligent, treated you with respect and certainly added a few jokes of a more heated nature that had you tugging quite literally on your collar. Visions of a rather handsome man (perhaps the sort to favour suits) all danced through you head, coupled with those pleasant words and the expectation that meeting your new aide was something you’d never forget.

”…Pardon?”

”I  _said_ , are you Mr Harley?”

Well, at least you were right about the last part.

The man recently deposited before you by the light aircraft now well on its way again is not  _quite_  the sort you envisioned. While the accent is about what you recalled a Texan twang to be, the disinterested way in which he drawls it out certainly doesn’t match up with the way he always seemed so engaged in conversations before. It takes you a moment to overcome that first mismatch between your expectations and the reality before you, before you manage to focus enough to actually take in the rest of him, feeling even more lost with every detail that adds to your disillusionment.

He’s half your bloody size (alright, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but he  _is_  at least a foot smaller than you) with skin you believe should be described as olive and ash brown hair swept back in a ridiculous style that’s thankfully mostly buried beneath a dark grey hat. He isn’t huge, but he’s got an athletic air about him, his frame coated in a thick dusting of freckles and then topped with the odd faded scar you’d swear was from a knife or sword if the sheer amount of them didn’t feel frankly ridiculous. It’s hardly like any sensible man of the modern age would engage in something as downright silly as sword fighting or such, after all!

Instead of the fancy clothes your mind had put on him, he’s wearing sneakers, jeans, and a polo shirt with a collar you think has outright  _malfunctioned_ , because there’s simply  _no_  way it should be sticking up around his neck like he’s styled himself after Dracula.

Good grief, he looks  _ridiculous_.

And you  _hired_  him!

No, you must behave! As difficult as it might be, you  _do_  try not to judge, and you must set a good example for Jade. You know she is waiting with Bec, excited to meet the small lad hiding behind his elder’s legs and peering up at you through oddly pointed dark glasses that match those his brother wears. Just because your new assistant doesn’t match your assumptions, that doesn’t mean you should think any less of him! No, you are  _better_  than that.

You must give him a chance and judge him purely on his merit! That’s the sporting thing to do.

”Yes indeed, I’m Harley!” You stick out a hand for him to shake, and though he peers at it suspiciously he does take it and shake with a small, firm squeeze. “You’ll be Mister Strider?”

”Well unless you were expecting anyone else, I probably am,” He withdraws his hand, pushing the brim of his hat up slightly with the pad of his thumb in order to observe the buildings and jungle-like forest behind you. “Can’t imagine this hellhole gets many visitors.”

You aren’t  _that_  annoyed by his choice of wording, given what you call the place, but it still feels like a fairly brash remark given he’s barely set foot on the soil. You look him over again, trying to be less of a twat about it, and decide he’s fairly good looking, behind the stubble and shades and hat. Yes, he isn’t as bad as he first appeared. This is  _exactly _why you always do your best to ignore first opinions!__

Although for some reason noticing that is making you recall some of his more lewd comments, which is making you fidget and consider loosening your bowtie.

Bad brain.  _Bad._

”Not really, no! Little out of the way, if you know what I mean. Not many people even realise we’re here!” You turn and regard your island with more fondness, the sight of it all setting a twinkle in your eye. You do love this place, remote as it is. You don’t think you’d change it for the world. “My little slice of paradise, once you get used to the climate and the odd wild creature.”

As you turn back to him, his hand drops from where he was rubbing his closed eyelids, shades pushed up, and before they fall into place you catch a glimpse of the bags beneath his eyes and the unnatural hue of his gaze, visible for barely a moment before it’s once more covered by dark glass. Hasn’t he slept? Despite how straight he’s standing, he looks exhausted, and you wonder quite why…

The lad behind him shifts, and you consider just how long he’s been flying, and quite how young the boy clinging to his leg actually is.

Ah.

”Maybe all this introduction business would be better done after I get you somewhere you can have a kip?” You enquire, nodding back towards your home. He opens his mouth like he might object, but the small head by his hip bobs, and you see him glance down before he echoes the motion. “Cracking! Let me help you with those-”

The first thing you learn for sure about Mister Strider is that he moves wicked fast, when he wishes to.

The second is that there is no way on this green earth that he will ever let you help him with his bags, no matter quite how many times you ask, or quite how heavy they all seem.

.:.

Strider crashes within about two seconds of his head hitting the pillow of his new bed, snoring as you observe his fully dressed form and consider finding a blanket to cover him with.

In the end you leave him to it, turning away and discovering that his young companion is standing nervously behind you and peering up at you with an expression somewhere between awe and pure terror.

”Well hello, little fellow,” you smile, and he shies away, blushing and looking down behind his miniature glasses. “Looks like your brother was rather exhausted. How about you and I go and find my granddaughter, so I can introduce you?”

His only response is to twist the hem of his shirt in his hands, chewing on his lower lip as he keeps his gaze trained on the floor. You can’t tell if that’s a yes or a no, so you hopefully offer a hand, and after looking at it in alarm like he sees it as some kind of snake, the boy takes it, small fingers shaking as they close lightly around the edge of your palm. With your very best attempt at a comforting smile, you lead him out, waiting until the door is closed and you’re on your way to glance down at the bobbing head of brown beside you.

”So what’s your name?”

”’m Dave,” he answers, voice mumbled and quiet, squeezing your hand as you walk.

”Dave. That’s a good name for a strapping young gent.”

Dave casts you a confused look, peering up at you like you’re spouting nonsense, which to be honest is how people usually look at you. You’re used to it! All water off a duck’s back at this point. You just give a smile back, hoping it allays his worries that you’re probably mad, but all it does is make him blush and look down again.

Hm. You’ve got a feeling this blighter’s going to take a bit of work.

Further attempts to start a conversation fail utterly miserably, and your floor must be the most damn interesting thing he’s ever laid eyes on with the way he’s staring at it! Not to worry, though. You’re sure the lad’s just nervous, you’ll give him time. Hopefully Jade gets along with him, helps him settle, and after that maybe he’ll have more than two words to string together in your presence!

Hopefully.

When you finally find her she’s outside with Bec, practising shooting with one of the little corked-up blunderbusses you made for her, the end popping out each time before she sticks her tongue out and carefully wedges it back in place. Your faithful companion lounges beside her, tongue lolling out in a constant pant, although you know if the call to action came he’d spring up faster than the quickest hare. He might look like he’s at rest, but he’s always ready for Jade. He’s a good dog, but he’s the best guardian you could ever wish for her, even including yourself in the list of possible candidates.

”Jade!” The moment you call, she stops what she’s doing, lowering the gun and looking over at you with her green eyes wide behind her large glasses. It doesn’t take her any time at all to notice the young figure attempting to shuffle behind your legs, and with what is positively a squeal of delight she bounds over, Bec rousing from his relaxed position to trail behind her, ever alert as you know he is.

”G’npa!” She leaps into your arms without warning, but you’re far too sharp to be caught off guard by a little thing like that, catching her and nuzzling into her hair as she giggles and clutches at your suspenders. “G’npa, I’m getting really good with my gun now! Soon I can fire a real one, I’ll show you!”

”I’m sure you will, Jade,” you tell her as she pulls away and beams at you. You mean it, too! Girl’s a genius, you get more and more proud of her everyday, and her being a crack shot wouldn’t surprise you one bit, even at her age. “But for now we have more important things to be seeing to!”

”Like what, G’npa?” She grins at you, casting a little look down at the boy well and truly hiding behind you, although he does sneak the odd peek around your legs. Bec notices his presence and slinks around you to sniff at him, causing him to yelp and jump around to your front, clinging to your shirt and watching your hound until Jade reaches down and pokes his head.

Dave looks up, startled again, blushing furiously when Jade smiles radiantly down at him and waves.

”Hi! I’m Jade!”

”…’m Dave,” he repeats shyly, but this time it’s with what might  _possibly_  be a little hint of a smile, raising a hand and giving a small wave back. Then he curls his fingers into a fist, holding it up at her. Jade pokes it, puzzled, and he shakes his head. “You gotta bump it. Like this-” Dave lowers his hand and bumps it with other one, before he offers it up again. “Now you do it.”

Jade leans back and copies him, her knuckles meeting his, giggling as he drops his hand. “What’s it do?”

”It means we’re bros now. You’re a girl but I’m gonna let you be my bro.”

Your granddaughter kicks her legs until you let her down, clapping her hands and bouncing in place in front of your young new houseguest. “Bein’ a bro sounds cool!”

”It should do. I’m  _super_  cool,” Dave tells her proudly, and then you see him glance up at you and remember you’re there, his head dropping as his cheeks go red. He mumbles something unintelligible, fidgeting with his shirt once more. Jade frowns at the change in his demeanour, before lighting up, running back to grab the gun she dropped and pushing it into his unresisting hands.

”Look! This s’my gun that G’npa made me! Wanna go shoot but’flies with me?”

”…whoa,” he whispers, peering at his reflection in the silver barrel. “I can shoot this?”

”Uh huh!” Jade beams, twirling around in place. “It jus’ goes pop but G’npa says if I get super good with it I can have a real gun!”

”I’ve got a sword,” Dave responds, sounding more eager. “Bro taught me t’use it, an’ he says I’m real good at strifes! Soon I’ll get a big one like him an’ be the best fighter ever.”

”Nuh uh! I’m gonna be the best. Guns are  _way_  better than stupid old swords!”

Bec moves up beside you and observes the growing argument, and the promises of showing each other just how ‘rad’ each weapon actually is. You know he is more than capable of keeping an eye on them, and with a murmur of  _good dog_  and a ruffle of the fur between his ears, you leave them to it, happy to hear Dave rambling away with more words than you think he’ll ever actually speak to you.

Back in the house, you manage to settle down behind your desk, looking over paperwork and thinking of all the things you need to actually discuss with Mister Strider, when he wakes. You have a big day tomorrow, probably, looking at quite how tuckered out he was when he collapsed so thankfully onto the bed. A lot of details to check and procedures to explain and the whole house to show to-

To, uh.

Hm.

You pull your to do list towards you, getting a pen and adding a scribble to the top.

 _Number One,_  you write, with a star beside it to stress it’s  _very_  important,  _actually remember to ask the bugger’s first name._

.:.

His name, you have learned, is  _Dirk_.

It’s an odd name, and given Dave’s penchant to call him Bro, one day you cheerfully wonder aloud if it’s some butchered shortening of Broderick or some such.

“…No,” he says, very slowly, his eyebrows pulled together incredulously at that level he seems convinced his shades hide his expression from you. “Bro is short for _brother_. Because if you haven’t noticed, I am related to him.  _Fraternally_.”

Ah, how you love his sweet, polite mannerisms, and how despite being a simple _wonderful_  assistant, he is a complete and utter  _badger’s ass_.

You clear your throat and look down at your papers, and he stares at you a moment longer than is socially acceptable before he raises his slick thingamabob and moves his hands over it to cast more of those spells that make your finances look very fancy indeed. Pie charts and graphs spread under his nimble touch, numbers falling into pretty lines that inform you of creative ways to save.

He  _is_ rather creative, you have to give him that. The fact he often voices his creative ideas to a puppet prior to you…  _Well_. That is something you choose to pretend doesn’t happen at all.

“Even Jade has taken to calling you Bro.” His jaw sets firmly as you continue to bumble your way through the attempt at conversation, eyes focusing intensely on the numbers he taps in with something bordering on aggression. You clear your throat yet again. “Should I correct her?”

“Bro is fine,” Dirk answers curtly.

You sigh and shuffle pages. Of  _course_ it is.

This is how it has been since he arrived, all formal and bland and nothing at all like he seemed before. Once, you could have whole discussions on an illuminating range of topics, but now- Well, heaven forbid you attempt some sort of jovial exchange! It’s downright  _infuriating_ , doubly so when you wander back to wondering if all his interest before was false.

You really did want to like him. You tried your best to keep your judgments aside, and to give him a real chance to show you who he was!

And who he  _is_ is a blithering dick bucket.

If only he weren’t so good at his job.

“Give me those figures again, sport.”

His teeth grind at the nickname, but he starts reading anyway, looking relieved you’ve abandoned your attempts to engage with him. What a brat, you think irritably, and consider how good it would feel to send him packing even as you watch the way his tongue wets his lips between lines and note just how fetching it is when the light catches it just so.

.:.

It has come to your attention that you have a problem, and he is short, dark-haired, and a grump.

“G’npa,” Jade likes to remind you, as she runs about with Dave constantly in tow, “it’s not nice t’stare!”

You are inescapably aware of that fact, and nod in agreement each time it is thrown up at you with a wave of her little cork rifle. It is  _very_ rude to stare, downright _atrocious_ manners, and yet here you are once again lounging by the door with a pipe between your lips and a rather excellent view of Dirk Strider’s backside.

He has taken to gardening, and you have rather encouraged it, if only for the amount of time he spends shirtless and head down in the soil.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he calls from between his thighs, and you seriously consider taking him up on the offer. You have an old Kodak somewhere, if he wants all the pomp and palava of the illicit photography session. You shall even go and find your old box Brownie and cover yourself with a sheet to increase the dramatic display.

“Prefer to live in the moment, my good man,” you answer pleasantly, despite those urges. While there are many depths to which you will, apparently, take a fairly fantastic swan-dive off the cliff of depravity into, taking a plate of his wiggling buttocks is not one of them.

 _Yet_.

“Well does the moment have to be staring at my ass?”

“I’m just enjoying the view of my lawn.”

“Your lawn is over  _that_ way.” He jabs his thumb over to the left. Why yes, that is indeed where your lush green grass appears to be. Hm. How mysterious. “Unlike your lawn,  _my_ ass isn’t the thing that’s going to get mowed if you keep staring.”

“I’d like to see you try.” Oh, that  _would_ be something. The little blighter wouldn’t be able to reach you if you just stuck a hand to his head and held him at bay. You’re pretty sure Bec is a more fearsome prospect than Dirk is, as for all his muscle he could barely reach your chest. You snort and cover your mouth, turning your face away.

It turns out Dirk can reach your chest. In fact, he can reach your face, and slaps it before you’ve ever noticed his approach.

“Ow! Son of a  _biscuit_!”

“Son of a biscuit,” he repeats blandly.

“I- I try not to swear in front of Jade, you little-” You swipe for him, and he hops back, out of reach, lips twitching in a smirk.

“What’s the matter, Grandpa? Can’t take your lumps like a man?”

“I’ll give  _you_ some  _lumps_ , you damnable  _sneak_ -”

Dirk continues to evade, until he is simply running away and you are gallivanting after him like a man half your age, grasping for his ever retreating rear with every intent to spank it, as it clearly belongs to an utter  _child_! He twitters and skips, enjoying your pursuit far too openly, until at last he stumbles upon a root and you _have him_ , grasping his wrists and pressing them to the nearest tree while you pant down at his face.

He looks very concerned, and very red.

“ _Brat_ -” You spit out, but it’s all you can manage before you have to stop and just catch your breath. You aren’t even unfit! He’s just fast, and bothersome, and you hadn’t even noticed him leading you into the woods! At last you can breathe without it burning, and you turn back to him. “What the devil bloody dickens was that about?”

“You told me you’d like to see me try, so I tried.” He shrugs, despite the clearly uncomfortable angle of his shoulders. “Didn’t you like what you saw? Want me to go back to wiggling my ass over petunias for you?”

“They were tulips,” is all you can stutter out, and Dirk snorts, rolling his eyes.

“He shoots, he misses, and the stadium bursts into flames.” With a hop, his legs are around your waist, and you stagger, crushing him to the bark without meaning to. He grunts, and you try to pull back, not wanting to hurt him more than- alright, maybe to hurt him a  _little_ , but in far more creative ways. “You’re a tough nut to crack, Harley.”

“You have to at least make an attempt to use nutcrackers or something, one doesn’t just break apart at the slightest glance.” You cut off his predictable retort about using a nutcracker on you, shaking your head. “Perhaps if you spoke to me about more than figures, you would have done more than coat my nut in steel and padlocked the damn thing shut?”

To watch him have to think about that pains you. Isn’t it obvious? What sort of socially inept twit would have to actually  _consider_ talking to you in order to get to know you?

“Maybe it would’ve made sense,” he agrees eventually, “but those are work hours, _boss_. We’re meant to be  _working_. You don’t hire me to sit around and talk to you, right?”

“Well what about all the other hours?”

“The ones you spend with Jade, or still working, or silently telling me I do in fact have the booty? Those are all things I don’t really wanna interrupt.”

“I- You don’t want to interrupt the last one?” What a load of codswallop. “You were all over interrupting it earlier!”

“Nah, I was all over  _commenting_ , breaking the ice, didn’t tell you to stop, not even when I slapped that grizzled thing you’ve got going on over your chin and sanded my palm down.” He wiggles his fingers above your hand, and it occurs to you you’re still holding him, though you can’t think of a single blasted reason to let go. “If I wanted to stop you, I’d already’ve put that line in the sand with a sword or a literal nutcracker. Trust me.”

“Well- Oh for pity’s- Confound it, man, what on earth do you  _think_ I wanted someone here for?” It irritates you immensely that you have to say it aloud. You always thought it was so clearly implied! “Part of your job is to keep me company. I didn’t move you out here just so we could have the delightful experience of same-room mathematics! I wanted you here so I might have someone to talk to, to make the days less empty.”

“You never said that.”

“ _I damn well thought I didn’t have to_.” His face is looking more smackable by the minute, and the fact he is doing a simply  _terrible_ job of hiding his smirk doesn’t help one bit. You recall that at some point, you thought him charming.  _Likeable_. Now look at you. “Dirk, if you want to be so bloody contrary I can have a plane here tomorrow!”

“I ain’t being contrary, Mister Harley,” he answers sweetly. “I am seeking clarification to better understand my duties.”

“You’re being an  _ass_.”

“Do you prefer observing asses to interacting with them?”

He wiggles his butt, and once again you are losing balance, shoving him harder to the tree. The sound he makes is outright  _illegal,_ and you huff offendedly as you attempts to drop him to the ground, only to find his grip on your waist is much stronger than you though. Curses-

“You really should try not to give so many mixed messages,” Dirk tells you, and the sentiment is so utterly ridiculous coming from him that you actually laugh.

“Mixed messages?” You splutter. “ _Mixed messages?_ I can’t even tell what you want for breakfast, you spend so damn long fussing between eggs and cereal, and you want to talk to  _me_ about  _mixed messages_?” God, this man- He’ll be the death of you. “Maybe when I know what _you_  want from  _me_ , we can  _talk_ about  _mixed messages-”_

“Okay,” Dirk shrugs, wrapping his arms around your neck, and then he is kissing you and you aren’t thinking of anything much at all.

His lips are as soft as you suspected, split in the scrum, and press forth with a pressure far too certain to be accidental. You grip his waist again and find your mouth is rather efficient at moving back on its own, until you’re stumbling and have him back to the bark so you can kiss him with all the skill you’ve managed to retain from your youth, feeling him grasp your shirt and slip his hand under your belt to scratch at your skin as you-

-You-

-What on earth are you doing.

You pull back, and this time his legs are loose enough he promptly drops to the floor.

“ _Strider,”_ you squeak, watching him stand and brush his backside off with a mutter. He blinks slowly at you, shrugging.

“Your turn to stop with the mixed messages, Grandpa,” he grins, and then like that he’s gone, and you’re staring at the tree with your mind in even more of a muddle than it started.

.:.

“Dave says Bro kissed you, G’npa,” Jade greets you that night, as you try to tuck her in. Her eyes are wide and eager, and innocent enough they remind you to bite back the terrible curse in your throat. “Y’gonna kiss him again? D’you  _like_ him? Like,  _like_ like him?”

Of course Dave knows. Why are you even  _pretending_ to be surprised.

“I haven’t decided yet,” you answer carefully, using the blankets to catch the blighter as she tries to wriggle free. “He likes me, apparently.” Well, he made that damn  _clear,_ no point denying it. Goodness, you can’t even have one night to consider this before being hounded by adorable questions that sound far too close to accusations in your mind. “Do...  _you_ like him, Jade?”

“Not  _like_ like, ew!” She wrinkles up her nose at you, and you roll your eyes at her expression.

“Just one like, Jade. Just a good old, plain single  _like.”_

 _“_ Oh!” Jade beams. “I do, G’npa! I do! He tells th’ _best_  stories an’ he’s always th’dragon when I’m gonna save P’incess Dave!” She sighs dreamily, not noticing your eyes glaze as you have a terribly appealing image of a bescaled Dirk draped over your desk and asking if you’ll be the princess in his tower. “An’ he listens t’me when I tell him my dreams an’ Dave says he’s super cool but really he’s not an’ that’s even  _better.”_

 _“_ I see,” you reply, but in honesty, you had no idea he had already left such an imprint upon her. He’s been terribly busy, your Strider. Making a good impression on everyone but you.

Cripes, you don’t know  _what_ impression he’s made on you at all.

Good and bad and up and down like a roller-coaster with far too many knowing smirks and far too few explanations. He’s dreadful, but it’s in some way that enamours you, even  _now,_ even after you’d  _made up your mind to dislike him_.

You are a weak man, you suppose.

“When’ll you choose, G’npa? Soon? Please choose soon!” Jade manages to get her arms out despite all your best attempts to the contrary, grabbing your arm and pulling you down into a hug. “Then you can marry him an’ he can be my Bro too an’ me an’ Dave can be  _real_ bros even though I’m a girl ‘cause he says that doesn’ matter!”

You laugh, rubbing her hair affectionately as she finally slips away to wiggle down below the blanket. “...Is that all you care about, dearest?”

“No!” Her answer is short and defiant, though the shrug that follows it is decided sheepish. “Maybe if Dave an’ Bro stay you’ll be happy.”

“I’m already happy, Jade,” you lie, and she looks at you like she can see straight through you. She doesn’t speak though, so you take what solace you can in the quiet, kissing her forehead and mumbling a  _goodnight_ before you creep out and leave her to sleep.

.:.

It takes a long time to figure out what you think about Dirk Strider.

Obviously, the man irritates you  _immensely,_ and his bizarre attitude and apparent allergy to being straight forward is painful at best. He works hard, and you can’t fault how he is with Jade, but... Well...

He’s been an absolute pile of fermented bull’s  _bollocks_ to you, so why in blazes do you feel so  _fond_ of the bugger?

You watch him run about with Dave in his clutches as Jade pursues with a might wooden sword clasped in her hands, and as they all collapse in a pile of the grass and he laughs, loud and bright, the smile on your lips is far too gentle for the likes of  _him._ Watching him scuffle with the children and transition seamlessly into a princess for them to come and save is something that should  _not_ pluck so effortlessly at your heartstrings, yet here you are, and so it does.

He catches your eye and winks at you, his smile broad and open. It consumes your face with heat, slays your train of thought, and with a flustered choke on your pipe you scuttle inside, and try your best to force the lingering memory of that face- and the knowledge of how those lips feel and  _taste-_ from your mind.

Oh, Christ on a cracker.

You’ve been downright hoodwinked into this, you’d swear it blindly to any who asked. You may have had your stupid suppositions, but it was never meant to turn into  _this._ He was just- it was just some  _fun,_ wasn’t it, some  _company,_ and maybe you’d imagined a few rolls in the hay if the good sir Strider was willing, but even after his atrocious assholery you’re pining like a lonely Magpie come mating, and he seems to have you pinned with every little look, and smirk, and infernal slide of tongue or teeth over the lips that held yours without room for denial.

And yet, you don’t hate him for it. Honestly, you don’t even truly  _dislike_ him, and that really does ruffle your feathers something rotten.

You just want to stop playing games.

But- he  _did_ , didn’t he? He made his thoughts on the matter astoundingly obvious. You’re the one still fretting and fussing over whether or not you can, dare you say, be  _brave enough_ to face up to them.

You aren’t in love with him, but you feel like you  _could_ be.

All it would take is that first, little step.

.:.

You decide to give up and just announce your feelings loudly one afternoon, when he is halfway through stitching up a soft plush of Bec to gift Jade, who herself is off somewhere with Dave tackling the  _fearsome wildlife_ you actually suspect to be a frog.

“I would like to kiss you again,” you say firmly, some sort of bizarre business negotiation for the right to mingle lips.

Dirk takes his shades off slowly, folding them up  _maddeningly_ slowly, and setting them and his work aside. He steeples his fingers at you.

“Really?” His tone of voice is the same you would take after Jade tells you a particularly sweet fact about flowers, and you  _despise_ it, even as you’re  _expecting_ it. You scowl at him, and he beckons you, patting his tiny, much-too-small-for-you lap.

Fine. If that’s what he wants. You stalk straight over and drop onto it, pleased you make him wheeze.

“This an answer, then, Harley, or you just fucking with me?”

“Not yet,” you answer sweetly, shifting when his hand rests on your thigh in a terribly delightful manner. “Give it time, though, and we shall see.”

“How the hell do you make such old fashioned bullshit sound so nice?” Dirk sighs. You’ve started leaning against him, because he’s comfortable, and familiar, and... well. He’s  _Dirk,_ and somehow that has come to mean something to you that you take great comfort in.

“How do  _you_ make such irritating tomfoolery so hard to care about?”

He laughs, and then he’s cupping your neck, tugging you down, and you willingly slide into the embrace. This time, you don’t jump back, and no moment of dawning sense halts you. You are well aware of what you are doing, and foolish as it may be, you have already thrown caution to the wind when it comes to your Strider.

This short little troublemaker will be the death of you, but oh, what a  _fun_ death you suspect it will be.

He laughs and pulls back first, resting his head to your arm and letting out small giggles that are nothing like the stern image he tries to project in your work hours. You think you want to get to know this side of him far more intimately, to untangle the mess just a few glimpses of it have left you in.

Yes. You could love this man, and the thought has you smiling rather stupidly.

“Just... riddle me one thing, Harls,” he murmurs, and you’re so giddy you don’t even complain. “You actually got a first name, or-?”

“Oh heavens.” You laugh, light and free, and tussle up his dark hair without a thought. “Of course, you ridiculous boy. You can just call me-”

_“G’NPA!”_

Jade’s scream cuts you off, but there she is, running in, grinning like the Cheshire cat and eyes all a-sparkle as she sees you both together. Dave follows, and his face shifts so fast you can’t even  _tell_ what half of his expressions are, but he settles on a grin that’s the brightest you’ve seen him make.

The children have no sense of privacy, and are climbing onto the chair and over you in a moment, babbling questions about if you kissed and if you’ll hold hands now and if this means Dave can stay forever-

And you smile, and shake your head at their silly laughter, and just tell them you have no idea what to expect.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3 You can find more Brograndpa I've written [on my blog](http://khemi.tumblr.com/tagged/brograndpa), if it so interests you :D


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